


The Stakes Have Never Been Higher

by antic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Winchesters, Execution, Future Fic, Gen, Legendary Winchesters, Oneshot, POV Outsider, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 05:19:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antic/pseuds/antic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day has come. The day they will finally rid the world of the Winchesters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stakes Have Never Been Higher

**Author's Note:**

> Because of course I couldn't stay away from outside POV that long. And of course legendary Winchesters had to follow right after. I don't think I even try at this point. The story just happened, a result of a sleepless night and an uncomfortable bed. I hope you enjoy reading the monster born of my obsession as much as I enjoyed writing it.

It was one of the better days when someone’s finally captured the Winchesters. The sky was clear and the sun shone bright when the news reached the roadhouse. It seemed so unreal that at first nobody believed it. But then more people started swarming the bar with incredible stories of traps, fights and chases and Wes was beginning to crack. But it wasn’t until the Vultures appeared that he really recognized _something_ was going on. Vultures were the hunters always at the scene after a fight took place, either there to gather whatever valuables may have remained after the monster or get some credit for the kill. Their main talent was sniffing out any kind of paranormal case and swooping in just this bit too late, for the sole purpose of riding the victory train. Nobody appreciated their arrivals, but everybody agreed their existence was unusually convenient. They always knew what was going on in the hunter world. If a Vulture said something happened, you could bet your ass it happened. That’s how Wes finally came to embrace the news about the Winchesters being temporarily incapacitated.

“Where did it happen?” Paul, more of a drunk than a hunter nowadays, asked a young man with a perfect military haircut. The man smiled knowingly. Nobody knew his name, as there was nothing to back it up. Vulture. His pants too tight and his chest too skinny to have seen a day of heavy–lifting.

“Kansas,” he said finally, lifting an eyebrow. “Poetic, right?”

It didn’t matter Vultures didn’t pass for a true breed of hunters; they knew about the infamous Winchesters just as much as the next guy. There was possibly not a person in the world that had any sort of contact with the supernatural and didn't hear about the Winchesters. It was the favorite story after a couple rounds. The Winchesters. Out there since forever and furiously assumed to be there forever. Not anymore, apparently. New hope started spreading.

Wes smiled. It was a matter of principle. Nobody had a right to be up here that long. Sooner or later everything and everyone turned. Snapped. A matter of time before it also overtook the Winchesters. No exceptions. They had too much power. It was said they’d worked with the King of Hell himself and came out on top.

Back in the day they tricked angels and demons alike. They were all over the place. Heaven, Hell, everywhere in between. Nothing could take them down. And that’s why their apprehension woke a new flame up deep in everyone’s souls. If someone like the Winchesters could be taken down, nothing was impossible.

The stories of their existence grew to the point of urban legends in certain circles, making people believe that’s all there was to it. But if there was one thing everyone should know, it was that every urban legend always had a grain of truth to it. And the Winchesters were real alright.

They were the reason the first Apocalypse started all those years ago; they were the reason it stopped. They were the reason the Leviathans crawled out of wherever they crawled out of; they were the reason they came back where they came from. They were the reason the angels fell; they were the reason they climbed back up. They were the reason another Apocalypse broke out; they were the ones to fix it again. They were the reason the world looked like it did today and that was only a fraction of it all.

After that they got more careful, more withdrawn from history and everyone who could somehow write it down; every book and every journal the evidence of that. From one side to the other, all over the place, the Winchesters were always there. Everybody knew that. What nobody knew was how that happened.

They were born in the last millennium. It’s been almost five hundred years. The nation rebuilt after the Croatoan virus - and that’s what they thought it was. A virus. People thought it just ran out its course and stopped. But it was the Winchesters. To this day nobody really knows what exactly happened, the only copies of the Winchester Gospels from that era having all mysteriously disappeared. The running theory was that Winchesters themselves got rid of them so that the truth would never come out. It’s said that it was around that time they started avoiding everyone, figures in the shadows, always there to take care of things too dark or too complicated to be handled by anyone else.

All the hunters wanted their heads. The heads of Winchesters who crossed the line between life and death. Who crossed the line of being hunters a long time ago, becoming the hunted. It appeared as if their luck had finally run out.

 

 

The word got out. Everybody was invited.

“Invited to what?” Wes asked when handed a piece of paper with what appeared to be coordinates.

“The execution,” answered the messenger and winked, disappearing in the crowd. He didn’t have to say whose. For the past week everybody was living the story. By then there was not a hunter who didn’t get the memo, whether they be in the middle of a forest on a hunt or off the grid and on the run.

After that encounter Wes decided to ask around. As it turned out, while everyone was ecstatic about the Winchesters’ fate, not everyone would be showing up. Just a precaution, they said. You never know, they said. It might be a trap, some said. What if they break out, others said. They can’t be happy.

Wes had to agree, but there was no way he wasn’t going. He had to see it with his own two eyes. The Winchesters. The indestructible figures. The immortals. A symbol of their own. Brought down to their knees, after all this time. After hearing all the stories, after reading all there was, to finally meet the legend. The nightmare. And stop it once and for all. It was surreal. Wes had to contain a shiver after he got inside his car and set off towards Kansas, a map with coordinates spread out over the passenger seat.

 

 

It was a middle of nowhere. There was no other way to put it. The earth underneath his feet was dry and colorless when he stepped out of the car. The gravel crunched when he made his way in the direction of what seemed like an improvised camp. There were tents, every different from the other, and people walking around. The sky here was grey and heavy with clouds, making everything seem dull and wet. In the middle of it all there was a marquee bigger than the whole lot and that seemed to be the thing emitting the most of the somber energy. Though every person almost constantly had their eyes on it, nobody dared to come too close. Wes scuffed his shoes in the dirt and gazed around, looking for someone who seemed to know more than the rest. Finally he settled on an older guy, rough in the face with a scruffy beard and a muscle stomach.

“You mind catching me up?” he asked, making a non–committal hand gesture. Some sort of commotion broke out on the other side of the camp. The guy laughed hoarsely.

“Some folks are too eager,” he spat on the ground, his saliva brown. “Can’t wait to kill someone.”

“Isn’t that the point?” Wes raised an eyebrow.

“Aye,” the man nodded. “But the platform ain’t ready yet and more are coming.”

Wes narrowed his eyes and thought to continue, but then decided to settle on his own.

“Thanks.”

“Any time, son,” the guy smirked. “But there ain’t no time like this time, mind that. We gonna be part of history, boy.”

Wes froze. It was true. He never really thought of it that way. He had no idea why. But that’s exactly what it was. They were starting a new era. An era without the constant threat of the Winchesters. Without the fear of them ever turning, of them using abilities unknown against them. There was not a lot of things everyone agreed on, but that the Winchesters had possible potential to wipe out the entire planet was one of them. For fuck’s sake, they practically did once already. They managed to cheat death itself. But not this time. Everyone was going to make sure of that.

Wes came back to his car and opened the trunk. It seemed he was staying for a while. He pulled out his own tent and tried not to think too much about how he was only a few yards away from the Winchesters while assembling it. A chill went up his back and a feeling he was being watched snuck up on him. When he tried to track the source of it down, there was no one even paying attention to him. His gaze stuck to the biggest tent, certainly big enough to hold at least five grown men inside. A shiver got him again when a cold breeze passed through the camp. All the loose material flapped loudly in the wind, making Wes feel highly uncomfortable. He was glad he wasn’t one for signs and superstitions, otherwise he'd be out of here faster than you could say “I don’t feel good about this”.

They had two of the most powerful beings currently known to men stored in a _tent._ And while he logically assumed shackles or cages or other devices were probably included – and he really had to ask someone about that – there was also this feeling. This uncertainty. But he guessed that wouldn't really go away until they got rid of those two.

He got back to spreading his own tent and tried to empty his mind. The feeling of being watched never quite went away.

 

 

It was three days until Derek, Erin, Sebastian and Bart finally announced that today was the day. Those four were the ones that achieved the unachievable. After being constantly drilled for details of the hunt of all hunts, they decided to boast publically over a fire, to satisfy everyone’s curiosity at once. Wes was among the crowd, constantly aware of the hovering shape of an impromptu prison behind his back. He couldn’t help turning around every few seconds to make sure it was still where he left it. Every day he was convinced it has somehow managed to inch closer to his tent – which now wasn’t on the edge of the camp anymore. It was true, people were still gathering and their own tents quickly surrounded Wes’s. Since he himself has arrived here, not one person stepped foot inside the marquee, including the four that built it there. He was hoping for an explanation, since he still had no idea what held the Winchesters and if they were still even there. Judging by the funereal air surrounding the tent, there had to be _something_ inside. Whether it really was the Winchesters had yet to be proven.

“Okay, people!” Derek stood up. “Quiet down!”

All the talking gradually lowered in volume and finally stopped.

“We have a story for y'all,” Erin smiled brightly and there was an ugly gash on the side of her face that wasn’t there the last time Wes saw her. “The story you’ve all been dying to hear.”

Some enthusiastic cheers could be heard from the crowd that now consisted of at least a hundred people if not more.

“As y’all know, we’re the crazy ones that've been chasing the Winchesters for years,” Sebastian started and yes, they were considered the crazy ones, their little group on a wild goose chase across America to get their hands on a whisper and a gossip. Where there was even the slightest mention of a Winchester, there they were. “And now here we are,” he spread his hands and the _suck it, we were right, you were wrong_ was loud and clear.

“So listen up,” Bart exclaimed and leaned closer to the fire, his face illuminated from below, shadows dancing across his features. Everybody focused and the story began. And it really was quite a story.

 

 

Wes was lying in his tent, tuning out the camp noises outside and staring up unblinkingly. He was trying to convince himself that what he thought was the ground slightly vibrating was the footsteps of other hunters and nothing connected to the presence of ancient beings and all the concentrated power surrounding them. His head was still running through the story told in great detail. He could almost see the final encounter go down.

The four hunters stumbled upon something groundbreaking in their mostly blind chase. They found an old house, almost in complete ruin, that was considered haunted. No one has dared to step foot inside the place for over eighty years, when the last owners finally ran out screaming like all the others before. It turned out there was a body buried in the basement. And with it some old notes, almost falling apart but decipherable. They took the notes and burned the body. It was only luck that allowed them to get a glimpse of a familiar symbol on the top page. The anti–possession symbol resembling the sun. The ghost almost took their heads off when they tried to get the paper out of its body’s hands.

Everything was written in code. It took them another few months on the road to crack it and when they did, the game changed. They swore they almost crashed the car when Erin got to the good parts. They no longer had to run after the Winchesters. They could bring the Winchesters to them.

“You know how there’s basically a summoning spell for every kind of unnatural freak?” Derek asked with a glint in his eyes, but it might've been the fire. “Well, it turned out the Winchesters were not an exception.”

The next year found them searching for the right ingredients and the right place. That was probably why nobody heard of them much for the past few months.

“The list went on and on,” Bart said. “And it was not easy to get everything. We had one chance to get it right. For any mistake we could’ve paid with our lives.”

Among other insane components there were angel feathers – which were always practically impossible to get, not to mention completely unobtainable in this day and age; or so Wes thought – and blood of three different demons. The spell also required something called the earth that remembered. Surprisingly, that was the one that gave them the most trouble. Mostly because they had no idea what it could mean. They consulted half a dozen different sources and made them vow to keep silent about the case. Not one had any ideas.

Until one day they overheard a conversation in a diner. It was between two guys sharing memories of their deceased friend. And then one of them mentioned something about going back to their home state to celebrate his life and remember their days together. It clicked so suddenly that Sebastian brought the entire diner’s attention to himself. After they got in the car, he explained what got him so riled up.

“It was like the final piece of the puzzle,” he said over the fire, every hunter’s face focused on him now. “Earth that remembers. It all made sense. It was where they were born. And that’s why we’re here.”

Kansas. Where the Winchesters were born and everything started. That concluded their mission. The four of them stocked up on weapons and ammo, not skimping on money. Then they rushed to Kansas. Here. They picked the location closest to erstwhile Lawrence with no buildings and no people around in case everything went south. And they got to work.

They used the blood of the three demons to draw the trap, all according to the instructions given. First’s blood for the outer circle, second’s blood for the inner circle, and the third one’s blood for the sigils in between them. All drawn right on the ground, in the white dust. The rest of the ingredients ended up in a bowl and went up in flames as soon as the last word of the summoning spell left Bart’s mouth. The rest waited on standby with guns in their hands, trying to look everywhere at once.

 

 

_“Did it work?” Sebastian asked, looking at the circle. “Did we do something wrong?”_

_“It burned, didn’t it?” Bart furrowed his brow. “How long does it normally take for the–” he didn’t finish, as an explosion of white light came from the trap and knocked them all back and down. Two of them dropped their weapons and blindingly started grasping for them._

_“What the fuck?!” came a dark, unfamiliar yell and a sound of someone banging against something hollow. The four of them scrambled back to their feet as quick as humanly possible, blinking furiously to regain sight._

_“Dean, calm down,” came a stern, quieter voice, but nonetheless commanding._

_“Calm down?! Me calm down?! You calm down!” by then they could see tall, dark outlines behind the fog still clouding their eyes. Somebody kicked something. “Who’re you, people?! And if I may kindly ask, what the fuck?!”_

_The voice was deep and quite frankly, pretty terrifying. It was a wonder its owner didn’t gut them already. But that would mean…_

_“It’s working!” Derek whooped. “We got the bastards!”_

_“Hey, who you callin’ a bastard?!”_

_Bart shook his head one last time and finally he could see the two men standing in the circle. Though technically he knew that if they were able to leave it they would’ve done it by now, it still did not look exactly safe and sturdy. There was nothing separating them. At least not physically._

_They were tall as fuck. That was the first thing. Both towering. Both glowering. Both terrifying as hell, with their offensive stances and fists balled up. Both ready to fuck shit up if allowed._

_“The Winchesters,” Sebastian came closer to the bloody circle with a smug smirk on his face. He took a step back just as fast when they both snapped their gazes to him. His smile dimmed a little. “Do you realize why you’re here?”_

_“I would sure as hell like to know, kid,” the shorter one, Dean, growled. “And it better be good. I was goddamn eating.”_

_That took them aback for a second. They didn’t think things as mundane as eating applied to creatures of this kind. Unless it was souls, or the flesh of small children. They also didn’t think those creatures would look so much like not creatures._

_“Dean,” the other one, Sam, started. And though it was Dean who was basically spitting fire and openly attacking the barrier, it was him that looked really, truly menacing. With his quiet posture and silent intensity he looked like a predator ready to strike at any moment. Dean didn’t seem fazed._

_“My burger, Sam,” he barked as if it was the greatest offense one could think of. “My burger!”_

_His green eyes threw daggers at Sebastian, waiting for a reply and not giving the slightest shit about his meek attempts at intimidation. They were the ones in a goddamn cage. Why did it feel like it was the other way around?_

_“It’s your time to go,” Bart stepped in, seeing Seb was not up for the challenge._

_Dean narrowed his eyes and stepped up right to the edge of the inner circle, quickly realizing his limitations._

_“Why don’t you break the trap, then?” he smiled. “And we can all go our merry separate ways,” he was charming; Bart had to give him that. “Like nothing ever happened.”_

_“I don’t think so,” Sebastian shook his head, finally finding his voice again. “We are getting the world rid of you two once and for all.”_

_Dean raised an eyebrow and smirked._

_“Did you hear that, Sammy.”_

_“Yeah,” even though Sam wasn’t smiling, amusement was still clear in his voice._

_“You’re not gonna laugh in a few days,” Erin sneered. Dean turned around and his expression immediately changed._

_“Why, hello there,” the innuendo was obvious. Sam rolled his eyes. It was all too normal. Bart had to actively remind himself the two brothers (brothers! they really were family, actual family!) standing in front of him were monsters. Their young visage was a trick. It was all a trick. They were beasts that crawled out of the deepest pits of hell to haunt this world. It didn’t stop Erin from blushing. Later she denied it ever happened._

_“Get the tent,” Bart ordered. From the very beginning they wanted to make this thing public. Nobody would believe it otherwise. Legends had a very nasty habit of sticking around even after their characters were long gone. And people had a very nasty habit of blaming things on things that did no longer exist. And if the four of them wanted to make it public, they knew they could not just leave the Winchesters out in the open like that. Not with how normal they looked and certainly not with how not monstrously they behaved. They couldn’t risk some soft–hearted hunter falling victim to manipulation. It wouldn’t end well. Bart looked around. Nobody moved. “Derek, get the tent,” this time he said directly to one of them._

_“Derek?” Dean asked incredulously and twisted his head to look at Sam like it was somehow his fault. “We got caught by a guy named Derek. You happy?”_

_“How is this suddenly about me?” Sam furrowed his brow._

_“You remember Trent?” Dean smiled tightly._

_“Yes.”_

_“Where’d you get those?” only after a couple of seconds Bart realized he was the one being asked. He looked down at the stack of papers in his hand. He forgot he was still holding them. Suddenly he realized that under his brash attitude Dean was also packing quite a brain, quickly and without anyone noticing assessing the situation for all he appeared to be only arrogant and pissed off. It actually made a lot of sense; they couldn't have stayed so deeply under the radar for so long if they were idiots. He snorted._

_“I’m not telling you.”_

_Dean sighed painstakingly. Derek was trudging back with wads of material and metal bars under his arms. Dean ignored the commotion his return caused. Instead he turned back to Sam, drowning them all out and lowering his voice. It was quiet enough out here in the desert to hear them anyway._

_“You were supposed to take care of it. You did take care of it, if I remember correctly,” Dean growled. Sam avoided his brother’s gaze. “Sam.”_

_“I told you I did,” he said finally. “But he wasn’t there when I went to get Chuck’s notes.”_

_“So you just left it at that,” Dean said flatly. “The only thing that could get us in a situation like this and you just, what, shrugged and said what the hell?”_

_“Come on, Dean,” Sam started defending himself when the rest of them got to work on building the tent around them. They started with the skeleton. “Trent would’ve sooner died than let anyone get their hands on it.”_

_“Then I guess he did,” Dean motioned at Bart and his friends angrily. Bart was not about to tell them they actually probably did pry the notes from this Trent guy’s dead fingers. “We don’t even know if he had any kids. Maybe it’s them!” Dean pointed at him again. “I’m gonna kill Trent when I see him again,” wait, what? “And judging by the circumstances, it’s probably gonna be sooner than later,” Dean glared at them as they screwed the bars together. “No, scratch that. I’m gonna kill Chuck for even starting that damn bloodline. Nothing but trouble with the lot of 'em.”_

_“Stop talking!” Derek barked at the Winchesters, expressing all of their unease. Bart’s muscles were tense and he most definitely did not want to know what the brothers were talking about. Hell no._

_They continued to assemble the tent in relative silence, accompanied by an occasional insult from Dean and his constant pacing around the inner circumference under Sam’s watchful eyes._

 

 

Wes tried to imagine how the Winchesters looked like. Going by what the four that trapped them said – tall, young, handsome and unbelievably built with no mistaking the pure evil they emitted – he envisioned them as sort of demons. Uncomfortably normal in appearance, yet with something deeply unsettling that would never make you let your guard down in their presence. But wasn’t that mainly how the meanest sons of bitches always seemed like? Wasn’t that exactly why it was them that lasted all this time? It was survival of the fittest, and they fit.

Wes closed his eyes and let a breath out. Bart announced that they were done waiting. Everyone who was not yet here had until tomorrow. At dusk the Winchesters would be taken care of. A shiver went up his spine when the ground under him quaked harder than before. He really hoped it was just someone’s car.

 

 

The next day he woke to the sound of excited shouts. Quickly he pulled on his old jeans and crawled out of the tent, first sticking a gun behind his belt and covering it with a shirt and a jacket. He saw all the people heading towards where there was a fire last night. When he got there he understood why. There were crates full of quality food. Someone must’ve went to a nearby city and gotten some for everyone. It was a big day, after all. Wes wondered if the Winchesters've gotten any kind of sustenance since they got summoned. He sincerely doubted it. Whatever could make them weaker, right? They had no chance with all the hunters here.

People formed groups, eating and talking together. A couple more hunters joined them today, fresh from the road. The food was gone in no time, but everyone remained seated around the stones of last night’s fire. Nobody could fully contain the nervous energy. It was the Winchesters. Some still did not actually believe them to be in the tent, but not one person dared to check. Wes has never seen people in such perfect agreement about something. He guessed he was not the only one who suddenly felt cold and anxious the moment he took a step too close to the center of the camp. He just hoped Bart and the rest had some way of transporting Winchesters from here to the sinister looking, ominous podium a fair distance from the tents. He could see it from here even while seated. Two high poles tried to stab the sky; next to the podium he knew there to be massive heaps of dry sticks, weeds, and branches. Everybody knew how it was going to happen, even though nobody said it out loud.

 

 

The sky was getting gradually darker; the closer it was to the actual dawn, the quieter everyone was getting. Finally Sebastian stood above the crowd.

“We need some volunteers!” he called out. “To escort the prisoners to their sentence!”

Some hands hesitantly stretched up. Wes almost couldn’t believe his was one of them. Before he could knock some sense into himself, he was already being ushered towards the alarming presence of the tent. He could hear every one of his footsteps too clearly. He almost felt the tiny rocks sticking to the soles of his shoes. His every instinct was screaming to turn around and run. Never come back. But it was too late. Sebastian, Bart and Derek were leading him and four other volunteers. He still felt that eight of them were barely enough to contain the force he came to believe was the Winchesters. He was kind of hoping for them to have some other way of transporting them. Magical shackles would be nice. Something like that.

Bart brushed the material of the entrance aside with hardly visible hesitation. The urge to escape only grew. Wes took a deep breath and looked around, mentally preparing himself. Then he saw them for the first time and it felt like all the air was punched out of his lungs. Not because of how they looked, but because of a nauseating wave of energy that seemed to sprout from his very insides upon catching a sight of them. Something was crying out in his head, in his heart, in his bones. _Wrong, wrong, wrong!_ By now he could barely ignore it. How it made his ears buzz. He was trying not to spin on his heel and run, because the Winchesters looked like there was nothing holding them back. Wes glanced down to make sure the wards really did exist. He had a hard time believing it worked, that the brothers wouldn’t just step over those few dark, meek lines ( _blood!_ ) and snap their necks. They certainly did look like they wanted to. They both stood straight and looked at them, unmoving.

“Damn showmen,” Dean growled quietly and Sam agreed quietly over his shoulder. “What happened to just taking care of business.”

Sebastian stepped up to the outer circle carefully and flinched visibly when Dean suddenly bore his gaze into him.

“You don’t see us making a bonfire over smoking the Devil,” he said it like it was just something people did. Hey, man, just going to kill the Devil. Be back by dinner. “That reminds me, Sam,” Dean, which Wes kind of already figured from the story, turned back to his brother, not giving a shit he just turned his back on people who wanted to stab him in it. “You gotta check on him, man. It’s been a while.”

“Since it’s the perfect opportunity,” Sam shrugged and scanned the small crowd in the tent with an expression disquietingly resembling boredom. Wes swallowed heavily. Check on who? He blinked furiously. He was most definitely not the only one who got thrown off by the off–hand comment, judging by the nervous looks shot around by his companions.

Dean raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms impatiently.

“Well?”

Bart and Derek joined Sebastian, more sure this time, but still no one was willing to break the trap. There was no saying what would happen. The Winchesters were way too unbothered by what was happening. Wes would’ve suggested to maybe wait a couple more days to starve them out if it wasn’t for the fact it’s already been a hell of a lot of time and they didn’t look even slightly dehydrated. It was more than a little unexpected, since everybody assumed the Winchesters needed food after Dean’s comment about his abandoned burger. He shuddered and wondered if he really could live with a reputation of a coward for leaving now. He would live, for one.

“Come on, guys,” Dean hurried them. “We can admit when we’ve been beat. Fair and square,” he looked considering for a second. “Sort of. Let’s go. We promise to behave. Pinky swear.”

Sam snorted behind his back. Dean threw him an annoyed glance.

“What?”

“You’re making them uncomfortable,” Dean chastised him.

“Just like they made me uncomfortable by gluing me to your side for who knows how long?”

“I’ll say yes,” Dean rubbed his eyes. “He’s just messing with you. Come on, there’s how many of you out there? We’re not gonna do squat. Let’s get this over with.”

Sebastian, Derek, and Bart all shared a look and raised their weapons as a precaution.

“Everybody ready?” Sebastian asked and Wes also lifted his gun. Bart nodded his head and Sebastian scuffed his shoe against the markings on the ground, smudging the long dried up blood. The moment the circle broke, a whisper of paralyzing, ancient power washed over all of them. Dean stretched up ostentatiously and groaned in relief.

“Wow, it was stuffy in here,” he grinned wolfishly. The first one to shake out of the reverie was Bart. Before the Winchesters had a chance to even try to do anything, he stepped over to them and forcefully grabbed Dean by the elbow to haul him towards the exit. Wes also would’ve made that choice, assuming it was Dean who was boss. But before Dean could even blink, Sam growled and snapped his head in Bart’s direction, eyes turning pitch–black in a fraction of a second. Everyone staggered back in utter horrified shock, feeling the slimy tentacles of arcane force brush against them to gather around Sam, flickering just on the edge of conscious physical sight. With unnatural speed Sam’s hand shot up in Bart’s direction and something happened to make Bart shout, convulse, and rip his arm away from Dean.

“Don’t,” Sam snarled. “Touch him.”

Wes suddenly remembered the gun in his hands, fear rippling through his veins. But no matter how hard he tried to pull the trigger, it wouldn’t budge. It was the same with everyone, if the way they started to shake their weapons was anything to go by. But instead of just smiting them where they stood – Wes was absofuckinglutely certain he was capable of that – Sam lowered his hand and turned from a goddamn personification of the worst infernal nightmare into his usual quietly focused self, as if nothing happened, his eyes back to their natural color.

“Just don’t touch him,” he repeated calmly and Dean shook his head in disbelief.

“Sammy…”

“Dean, don’t,” Sam commanded. Dean sighed and didn’t manage to say anything else before Sebastian was shouting.

“No more talking, let’s go!” his voice was shaking, no matter how much he tried to conceal it. “Go! Or I’ll shoot!”

But not one person tried touching either one of them again. Bart was still cradling his hand against his body. Wes felt his legs shake. There was eight of them here, why didn’t he feel in control even when the Winchesters started walking?

“Guys, really, I don’t think there’s need for that,” Dean pointed at their weapons and Wes tightened his grip on the gun, expecting it to fly out of his hands any second now, but nothing happened. “There are many things that can be said, but that a Winchester is not good on his word is not one of them.”

“Soon there won’t be any more Winchesters to say anything about,” one of the guys next to Wes snarled and he wanted to cave his skull in for that. He was standing in the presence of creatures – there was no question about it now – whose cooperation was the only thing standing between life and death of every person in this fucking camp. Was his answer really to antagonize them further? God knew why the fuck didn’t they kill them already. Didn’t he just witness what one of them did?! Wes took a deep breath. It might’ve been his last. But Dean only smiled secretively, stared at the author of the words intently for a few seconds, as if burning his face to memory, and snickered.

 “I don’t know, man,” he said lazily. “Won’t there?”

           

 

After the most adrenaline filled few minutes of his entire life, Wes was guarding the back of the procession. He had an excellent view of the Winchesters’ undisturbed stroll. They didn’t look like prisoners escorted by dozens of armed hunters. It looked more as if they were being guarded against everyone else than the other way around. More and more people were joining them as they walked across the camp and towards the makeshift stage created for that one specific reason. When they reached open space only then Wes could truly see the extent of people that showed up to bear witness to the execution. It wasn’t a surprise. Killing the Winchesters. It sounded ridiculously unbelievable to most ears. It was like killing an idea.

Wes didn’t know if he just imagined it or if the Winchesters really hesitated for a split second upon seeing what awaited them. The wooden platform presented a gruesome, almost sickening sight when the last rays of a blood–red sun shone through the boards. Its outline looked ominous, with two spires shooting up into the sky. Wes had really no idea why the Winchesters haven’t escaped by now. Haven’t even tried. Unless… Unless they were bluffing and it was all just for show. The attitude, the fireworks. To go out in style. Could it be? The almighty Winchesters, brought down to their knees by a bunch of hunters. He couldn’t believe he was going to go down in history as a part of it.

With every step he was beginning to be more sure it was going to work. It was really going to work. But he still wouldn’t risk shoving either one of them out of spite. He wasn’t that sure. He looked up to the sky and saw a few birds make their way across it, oblivious to the historical impact of the scene unraveling underneath them. The sun was now almost entirely gone from the horizon, only leaving sharp streaks of color on the clouds. He had no idea how such a beautiful sight could somehow be reduced to a nerve–wracking omen. Uncertain whispers accompanying them since they left the tent now grew in volume and the first signs of shouted taunts could be heard. Stupid fucks! Wes bore his gaze even more intently into the Winchesters’ backs, expecting them to snap at any moment. What the hell was it with people and having a suicidal streak a mile wide. It was the fucking Winchesters; nobody could be sure what they were really planning to do. They might have cooperated one minute and ripped their goddamn heads off the next.

When they got to the steps, the crowd parted to let them through, finally falling silent. Erin was already waiting up there. Bart and Sebastian walked up first, showing the way. Then the Winchesters were verbally ushered up behind them. It seemed not only Wes was quite hesitant about touching them. Derek, Wes, and the rest of the volunteers climbed the stairs right after, making sure nobody got any ideas.

“You,” Derek pointed at Dean. “Over there!” he motioned with his gun to the pole further away, where Sebastian was already waiting with ropes picked up from the ground. “You’re staying here,” he said to Sam and almost made a mistake of pushing him towards Bart and his own set of ropes.

“Kinky,” Dean exclaimed and winked to his brother, who only rolled his eyes. Wes gulped. Shouldn’t they be freaking out at least a little by now? Just a little, to calm him down a bit.

“Shut up!” Sebastian ordered. “Turn around and hands behind your back!” Dean did and he started to tie the rope around his wrists, bounding them together so harshly that even Wes couldn’t help but flinch. Dean didn’t bat an eyelash, observing the crowd gathering at the foot of the platform. The people were starting to make noise again, louder with every knot. When Bart got to tying Sam’s ankles, Sebastian was already on swinging the rope around Dean’s body, completely immobilizing him against the pole. Sam’s gaze was boring into the side of Dean’s head.

Wes heard Erin commanding some hunters and a few moments later they started to throw branches on the platform so that Derek could start arranging them at the Winchesters’ feet.

“Ah, hell,” Dean lowered his head. Wes was looking from one of them to the other. ( _Wrong, wrong, wrong!_ ). He would not rest until the damn fire swallowed the two of them whole. It was the only way to be sure. He had to see it with his own two eyes. This was too much power to be wielded by a person. None of them even was a person anymore. He knew that now. He knew it for certain. He didn’t want to imagine what could happen if they got bored one day.

 

 

When the last of the knots were tied, they all stood back, waiting. The silence has fallen again; the Winchesters were staring at them impassively. If the ropes were making them scared or at least uncomfortable, they didn’t let anything on. To tell the truth, it didn’t even seem like they mattered. Useless props. It looked too much like the Winchesters could just step out of them if they decided to do so. But for some reason they didn’t. Why didn’t they? Shit.

“Sam and Dean Winchester!” Sebastian started, raising his voice and reaching into his pocket. “For the multitude of crimes you have committed against the people of this planet,” he flicked his lighter on. “And will without doubt commit again, you have been sentenced to death,” during the speech, Derek started pouring gasoline over the sticks and branches, now reaching the Winchesters’ waists. “By burning!”

After those words a roaring applause rolled over the crowd, everyone cheering wildly. Wes had the perfect spot to see it all go down. Sebastian first walked over to Dean, throwing a mocking glare in Sam’s direction. He was almost a head shorter than him.

Sebastian crouched down in front of him. Wes was expecting to see him explode at any moment now, the Winchesters finally unraveling their plan. But instead he only heard Dean shout to Sam.

“I liked it better when we’d get arrested!”

And then fire shot up, obscuring him from view. All the hunters gave out an animalistic cry. Wes could not believe his own eyes. Sam’s mouth was a tight line across his face and he was shaking his head disapprovingly, still looking at where Dean’s dark outline was motionless among the raging flames. And then Sebastian cautiously threw the lighter at his feet from a distance and Sam Winchester joined his brother at the exact moment the last of daylight disappeared from the sky. They all climbed down the stairs of the podium to join the savagely hollering crowd. Wes looked on as the rest of the escorting group started yelling obscenities at the two burning stakes, celebrating the supposed victory. For some reason he couldn’t bring himself to let loose like that, watching the orange glow spread across the night sky. The Winchesters were gone, once and for all. He stood there as the screaming, yelling hunters bumped into him and knocked him off balance.

It didn’t feel like victory. It didn’t feel like an end.

**Author's Note:**

> Because there's never really one easy way.


End file.
